Winter's End
by Maruchina
Summary: It's a cold winter. Draco contemplates his decisions and their consequences in love and war. (Harry/Draco implied)


**Title:** Winter's End  
**Author: **Maruchina  
**Pairing:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters, I'm just playing with them.  
**Summary:** It's a cold winter. Draco contemplates his decisions and their consequences in love and war.  
**Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny  
**A/N:** Thanks to DominoNermandi for the great beta, and thanks to Dreamspeak for all the suggestions! Much love. 

It's cold, dark and very early in the morning. The sun isn't up yet, snowflakes are making their way to the ground in beautiful patterns, dancing on the wind. You don't notice any of this. You stand in front of a completely normal looking house, and you stare at a spot on the first floor, as you've been doing for the past hour or so. Your eyes are on a figure standing in front of the slightly parted curtains, wearing what seems to be a dressing robe. You can barely see the outline of it, but you imagine it's made of green silk, the last present you gave him.

You wonder if his wife is still asleep in their big, cozy bed, cuddled up under a Weasley quilt, her hair draped over her pillow. Why isn't he with her, sleeping and dreaming of his lovely future; seven perfect Gryffindor children; a job as a professional Quidditch player? Apparently even the perfect marriage couldn't cure him of his nightmares, couldn't erase the images of times gone by. You wonder if she even knows that he wakes up trembling every night, if she holds him, if she knows of his fears and hurt.

You see the figure is moving, hanging his forehead on the glass of the window. You imagine there's a look of regret on his face, because he's reliving your time together, feels your hands on his skin again, hears the sweet promises being whispered in his ear.

You wonder if he can see you, standing there, making a fool of yourself for a man who chose perfection over you. You wonder if he'd come downstairs, open the door and tell you he'll save you again. You wonder if he's happy, now that he has the perfect wife and is the precise copy of his dead parents. From a distance one wouldn't notice the difference. His black, messy hair next to her flaming red curls, dressed up in black robes, Gryffindor scarves hanging over their backs. He wonders if he's got everything he ever wanted now that he's finally lived up to everyone's expectations and has a loving family again.

You see another figure appearing in front of the window, next to him. She puts her arm around his back, kisses him, and leads him back to the bed. The curtain falls into place and hides the couple from your view.

You don't notice that you're cold, that you're trembling, that a few stray tears have frozen on your cheeks. You walk away, until you look up and see the sun spread a faint light through the grey, thick clouds. You hear bells chime in the distance, in the church where he married her just two days ago. She looked lovely, every inch the perfect bride, up to the flowers braided in her hair, and the sickening happy smile gracing her face. You watched from a distance, degraded to being an outsider again, crumpling the invitation in your hand. It was the day you asked Pansy Parkinson to marry you, as your parents had intended for you since you were born.

At the end of the winter, you are sitting behind the fireplace in Malfoy Manor, when your mother lays her cool hand on your shoulder. She tells you it's time, smiles her serene smile and touches your cheek. You follow the patterns of the mosaic on the floor with your eyes while you attempt to smile, and you hope she will explain your lack of enthusiasm as nervousness. You kiss her goodbye, open the door, and walk through the long hallway where generations of Malfoys look down at you from their portraits. You used to spend hours talking to the portraits and trying to get to know all the family secrets, and now you wonder if this is all you'll live for, if there will be more than a portrait reminding people of your existence after you die. Your father waits at the end of the hallway, a house-elf stands beside him, holding their brooms and robes. After you pull on the robes, you take your broom, and the wooden handle feels normal, almost reassuring, when you clasp your fingers around it and walk out the front door. The cold night's air causes you to shiver, but you appreciate the way the cold embraces you, as it reflects the way you feel inside.   
  
The flight to the manor where the Ceremony will take place doesn't take long, especially because your father is familiar with the surroundings. You follow him blindly, like you've done all your life, and you curse the weather under your breath because it's a very clear night, and you arrive even sooner than expected. The sound of a quiet thud can be heard when your feet connect with the ground, after a smooth landing. You don't recognize the manor, but your father seems to know the way, and he leads you to the front door, where two house-elves are waiting to open the door and take your robes and brooms. You know most of the people who are mingling with each other in the main hall; some of them are former classmates. You smell a strong perfume just before you feel a hand on your arm, a peck on your cheek and hear a familiar voice in your ear. Pansy. You give her a quick kiss and walk with her to the room where the Ceremony will take place. It's a big, richly furnished room, and you take your place, assuming that Pansy knows where they're supposed to be seated.

When the ceremony begins, you let the words wash over you, and you fixate your gaze on a spot on the wall, imagining this is not happening. Suddenly the stream of words stops, the mood changes, and the first name is called. Millicent walks to the front of the room, where she takes the oath and signs her name under the binding contract. You don't see the face of the wizard who performs the magic because you're looking at Millicent instead. She gasps in pain when she receives the Mark, which seals the bond she just closed with the Dark Lord.

After Crabbe and Goyle it's your turn, and you walk to the spot where the Ritual takes place. You take the oath without feeling any of the words, and you sign the contact without looking at the text. After that, you look blankly at your arm where the tattoo is burned into your skin. You don't feel any pain; the only thing you feel is hate. Hate for everyone around you, especially for your father, who looks down at you with pride.

You lean against the wall of the room where the after-party is held, avoiding being congratulated by the older Death Eaters. You're waiting until the gathering will come to an end, until you're free to walk in the melting snow and to think about your future as one of Lord Voldemort's followers. You feel someone's eyes on you, and when you look up you notice a dark, tall figure in the other corner of the room, holding a glass of wine in his hand. Professor Snape: potions master, Death Eater, and spy for Dumbledore. You suddenly think that maybe there's a way out after all.

It's past midnight when you fly to Hogwarts and walk through the empty corridors leading to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore's eyes twinkle when he receives you with a knowing smile. When you accept the sherbet lemon, you know history won't repeat itself; not this time.  



End file.
